2 am
by finkpishnets
Summary: Oneshot. It's 2 a.m. and the streets of London are strangely empty. Harry Potter crossover. Ginny/Oz.


Title: 2 a.m.

**Author:** Bobbie

**Fandom:** Harry Potter/BtVS

**Rating:** PG

**Pairing:** Ginny/Oz

**Spoilers:** Season 4 of Buffy, all HP books, kinda, but not really.

**A/N:** I think Ginny/Oz has just become my new Crossover OTP and therefore this just had to be written so it would leave me alone. It's a little soppy and very strange but it's haunting me now and I'll probably write more like this in the near future.

It's 2 a.m. and the streets of London are strangely empty. She walks with a purpose, arms wrapped tightly around her to keep out the bitter cold that's settled over the November nights. The orange glow from the dimly lit street lights watch her shadow and she supposes that she maybe ought to be scared, a twenty year old girl on her own, but she's not and as long as she can feel the wand in her right pocket then she knows she's safe. Despite appearances, she has no idea where she's going; she had just felt the need to go. Walk. Get out of there. She loved her family but they could be so claustrophobic, and ever since Harry Potter had got engaged to some blonde tart from the Ministry of Magic it had become almost unbearable.

_'Ginny dear, are you alright?'_

_'Would it help to talk about it?'_

_'I know you're hurting, but please try and make an effort.'_

The worst part was that no matter how many times she tried to tell them otherwise, they still believed that she was head over heels in love with her brother's best friend. Which she sort of hadn't been for, oh, four years now. Maybe five. Even Harry, the egotistical bastard, would give her pitying looks from time to time as if to say _'I know it must be so hard not to have me' _and she had to literally restrain herself from pushing him down the bloody porch steps.

She was eternally stuck in the guise of a thirteen year old girl who looked up to her big brothers and hero worshipped the Boy Who Lived. Not the most flattering stage of her life. In fact, she was fairly certain that none of her family had any idea what it was she did these days. They must know that she had a job and a flat and a life but whenever she talked about them they just smiled and got these glazed looks in their eyes as if listening to a child chatter about a fantasy world.

But she did have a job, a rather good one in fact, working as a journalist for one of the more politically minded wizarding newspapers. She had recently been given the front page for her story about the Ministry debate concerning the uprising in the Middle East, a feat for anyone her age and greatly (if not a little enviously) praised by her colleagues. She also had a flat just a five minute walk from Diagon Alley in muggle London; a small, modern, one bedroom place with an open plan stainless steel kitchen and homey lounge as well as a fairly large bathroom with a whirlpool bathtub. She'd always wanted a whirlpool bathtub.

She also had friends; friends who were not completely obsessed with the every move of Harry bloody Potter (except possibly John but that was understandable; the poor man hadn't had a shag in a year). They went out for drinks several times a week to try out the local bars, often just settling for Sinc because everywhere else seemed to be full of loud drunken men or slutty barely legal girls. On Sunday mornings she and her best friend Suze would go running up in Hyde Park and then stop for coffee before hitting the shops and gossiping about their week, focusing mainly of Suze's latest dating disaster since she always went for the wrong sort of bloke and about Ginny's lack of love life since she was too much of a romantic to go out with just anyone.

She was also happy which was often hard to remember when she had to spend several hours in the company of her family. They didn't mean to, they just had a way of making her feel small and childish and really, _really _want to hit something. Sometimes she just wanted to shout _'I'm an adult! I work, I drink and I've had sex, damn it!' _Of course that would just result in her mum having a heart attack.

She looks both ways before crossing the road because even though the street's deserted you can never be too careful. Around the corner she almost bumps into a couple who are drunkenly giggling as they cling to one another and don't pay Ginny a second glance, too caught up in their own little bubble. Ginny kind of wants a bubble.

She speeds up as she passes a still crowded bar where several people are standing outside and braving the cold for a smoke. It's the trait of a Londoner to keep your eyes on the ground, your bag close and your steps brisk and purposeful. No one will disturb you then. Once she's round the corner she slows down again, letting her breathing even out and pushing a strand of red hair back behind her ear. For some unfathomable reason she feels the real need to cry; it's a mixture of anger and frustration and tiredness but it won't leave her alone and so she finds a bench in the next park she comes across and lets her tears freeze against her cheek.

It's a pretty stupid idea because then she can't hear much except the pounding in her ears but when she stops for breath she notices the footsteps drawing near and she checks immediately to make sure her wand is in easy reach and then almost jumps when they speak to her in a way that's not a drunken come-on or a shouted insult.

"Are you alright?" He's maybe two years older than her and has a distinctly American accent and she's pretty sure he's not dangerous because his t-shirt has a picture of The Ramones on it. She almost laughs at her own reasoning.

"Not really," she says, not quite sure why she's keeping up this conversation and not just walking quickly away like any sane Londoner would have done by now.

"What's wrong?" He doesn't make a move to come any closer which she's grateful for because her hearts speeding up too much as it is and she's wondering why she's never been the sensible type of girl like Hermione who would never have gone for a walk by herself at this time in the morning _anywhere_, let alone the streets of London.

When she doesn't answer he shuffles his feet a bit and runs his hand through his hair which she's just noticed is a similar shade to hers only a bit more brown and she thinks that maybe this shouldn't make her feel better but it does.

"Nothing. And everything. I guess I'm just having one of those days," her voice comes out a bit rough from the crying and she coughs to clear her throat.

"Yeah, I get those a lot." He's got a nice smile, sort of lopsided and slow like he doesn't really have a care in the world and even when he does he just takes it with a pinch of salt. She's never really known anyone like that.

"Where in America are you from?" He blinks are her question and his eyebrow raises slightly but he doesn't act as surprised as she's sure he is.

"Sunnydale, California." She's heard of California of course and she thinks Sunnydale rings a bell but she doesn't try to think too hard; her brain is barely functioning as it is.

"Oh, do you miss it?" She knows she's being personal and that she doesn't know this man from Adam but he seems nice and in her sleep deprived brain he makes her feel strangely safe and she likes that feeling.

He gives her another of his lopsided smiles, this one tinged with something like sadness. "Sometimes."

She budges over on the bench so he can sit down; she figures his backpack must be heavy if he's travelling and he takes the seat gratefully so she must have been right. He doesn't sit too near her which, again, she's thankful for.

"I'm Ginny," she tells him after awhile, looking straight ahead at the way the shadows of the trees dance across the ground; most people would think of child's horror stories but to her it looks a lot like the Forbidden Forest at night from where she used to sit at her dorm room window.

"Oz," he says, his deep voice sending a slight shiver through her spine that's rather pleasurable. Oz; it's a nice name, obviously short for something longer but she doesn't really care because she always avoids telling people her real name is Ginevra too and if he prefers his nickname then, well, welcome to the club.

"As in The Wizard of," she smiles and when she hears his low, brief chuckle it becomes even wider.

"Exactly."

She thinks maybe this would be the perfect lead in to tell him she's a witch, but then, that would be stupid. She's not that far gone, except, she's not entirely sure he'd think she was crazy which makes the craving even stronger. She pushes it away.

"Where are you staying?" she asks and out of the corner of her eye she sees him shrug his shoulder, calmly and casually like everything about him.

"I'll probably check into a youth hostel." There's no regret in his voice as if he'd rather be staying in a hotel and that makes her feel warm because he obviously just lives life content with what he's got and she finds that a truly admirable trait in someone. Maybe that's why she does what she does next.

"I've a sofa you can sleep on if you want." He looks at her then but his eyes aren't, as most guys' would be, roaming her body, instead he's looking at her face and when she turns to look at him directly she suddenly feels flushed and vaguely giddy all at the same time.

His next questions catches her entirely by surprise. "You're a witch, aren't you?" Her eyes widen and she's pretty sure her mouth must be close to hitting the floor right now but she can't do anything about it except croak out "How'd you know that?"

"I could sense it." There's a pause. "I should probably tell you; I'm a werewolf."

For a moment her heart stops and she wonders if she's made a terrible mistake by not running away as soon as she had the chance. But only for a second. She senses the way his body has tensed up, just slightly but enough for her to notice. He cares what she thinks. Somehow that makes her feel happier than she has in a long time.

A truly bizarre image comes into her head then and she begins to giggle, a reaction he was obviously not expecting. His eyebrow quirks again; it's a cute trait. "I'm just glad I'm not wearing my red cloak." And then she breaks down laughing.

Once she's caught her breath again she looks up and almost does a double take. He's looking at her with something akin to awe and she's not sure anyone's ever looked at her like that before.

"What?" she asks, feeling herself blush.

"Nothing." He looks down at his hands quickly.

"So, sofa or hostel?" she asks and she really, _really _hopes he says sofa because she doesn't want him to go. Not yet.

"If you're sure then definitely your couch; beats sharing a room with nine other smelly guys."

"I'm sure. Besides, I could definitely use an escort back." She stands and waits for him to follow. As the two of them make their way silently back through the London streets she finds herself moving closer to him until her arm is brushing against his and sending electric tingles down her spine. It's been forever since a guy has made her feel like this and she can barely believe that it's some stranger. Except, he's not a stranger. Not really. He's Oz and he's from Sunnydale, California and he has reddy brown hair and smells like oak and toffees, a strange combination that she thinks may have become her favourite thing in the world.

"You know, you can stay as long as you like," she says quietly and her voice leaves no doubt that she's serious. There's a warm, tingling sensation against her hand and she realises that Oz has taken hold of it and wrapped his fingers around hers. She can't remember the last time she held hands with someone. It feels perfect.

She catches his eye out of the corner of hers and he smiles, fully this time. One that tells her everything he's not putting into words. _'Yes, I'd like that.' 'If you want me, I'll be there.' 'I hope you don't regret this because I'm not sure I could walk away now.' _

She thinks about all the muggle romance films that Hermione made her watch once during the summer when she was going through her soppy faze over Ron and felt determined to drag the younger girl down with her. In those, love at first sight happened by rule; a cliché that never got old. She'd never held much ground on it. She's not in love, she's knows that, but she has no doubt that she will be and probably pretty soon. He's sort of wonderful and she's aware they know nothing about one another except a few basics, but the finding out is always the fun part anyway.

She thinks maybe fate and destiny and all that exists after all because meeting someone who makes you feel like _this_ is rare enough as it is, but especially at 2 a.m. on a bitter November night in the middle of a deserted London park. She doesn't think she'll tell her mum that part when it comes to it because she can already hear the lecture as it is, let alone her brothers million invading questions and her fathers suspicious looks. That should scare her a little, or at least make the giddy feeling in her heart dim slightly, but it doesn't because, she figures, if she's going to go through all that then Oz is going to have to be there too. And, now that she thinks about it, that seems like the most perfect place in the world.


End file.
